


Bad Senpai

by MeltyRum



Category: Megalo Box (Anime), Persona 3, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22377613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyRum/pseuds/MeltyRum
Summary: An older and world-weary Shinji reflects on what a piece of shit he is and bumps into Aigis along the way.
Relationships: Aigis/Arisato Minako, Aragaki Shinjiro/Shirato Mikio, Arisato Minato/Yamagishi Fuuka
Kudos: 5
Collections: Boku no Hero Academia x Persona





	Bad Senpai

The addition of another bodyguard had been… nice, but it was a double-edged sword. It had been so long since Shinjiro had had such large stretches of free time that he often found himself at a loss when determining how to spend it. He’d originally asked for the time so he could spend it with his employer’s brother, after all—but Mikio was a busy guy, too. Even if he let off steam with Shinji (whether in the ring or out of it), he was also clearly invested in his work, which was understandably pretty demanding, in terms of time.

This left him alone in his little apartment, which was quiet—just as he liked it. But when one had time and money to spend, it made the space feel somehow smaller than normal.

So what was Shinji supposed to do in those spans of time where he had only himself? It dawned on him—again—that cooking was basically his only interest, but it’s not like he was hungry every hour of the day. Before he knew it, he had turned being a loner with a bad attitude into a time-consuming hobby. Perhaps he hadn’t really changed much since high school, but that was a depressing thought. Maybe such an attitude just suited his job so well that he was never under enough pressure to change himself—to do something useful and positive with a life that he no longer saw much value in.

He wasn’t in pain, though. For all the deficiencies he saw in himself, Shinjiro was actually rather comfortable—most of the time. As much as he may quietly lament about how he and his life turned out—and how he would never recommend a similar path to anyone else—it wasn’t that he was necessarily unhappy or that he had no self-respect. But he knew that his role and his path were not the right ones for respectable citizens: people deserved better lots than what Shinjiro had gotten, while that same lot happened to be well-deserved for him.

That’s what he told himself, anyway. Shinji was a waste of skin who—thanks to the generosity of his employer and to his “partner’s” dubious character judgment—got on _better_ than he deserved.

What did he deserve, then? A hole in the head, maybe, or a worn parka and a cold tarpaulin to sleep under. He could never shake the feeling that the life he had was one that he had stolen, accidentally or otherwise. It was long ago that he probably should have forgotten it—should have come to terms with his accident.

But how could he? Especially when, every once in a while, he could still catch a glimpse of the survivor—his _victim_ —on television, of all things.

Shinjiro would probably never forget the name ‘Amada’. He wasn’t sure if it pained or relieved him to see Ken in national news as frequently as he was. On one hand, being in 1-A probably meant that he was doing well; on the other, being made the repeated focus of villain attacks wasn’t exactly fair. A part of him wanted to help—to take the fight to the villains himself, and maybe purchase Ken’s forgiveness if he sold his life to taking down a villain or two.

But what use would that be, really? The League of Villains was a bigger obstacle than one pathetic bodyguard could hurdle; if he got himself killed, that wouldn’t make things easier for anyone, least of all Ken. It was, however, a potential path to forgiveness that induced much less fear than the other options. It wouldn’t be fair for Shinji to go and apologize to Ken personally—to ask that Ken forget about him, so that they might both move forward in their lives. For one thing, Ken was _already_ moving forward. Any meeting between the two of them would ultimately only be for Shinji’s benefit, most likely, and he doubted that he would get much peace of mind from it even then. There was no point in making such a selfish gesture.

Realizing he could do nothing for Amada’s son had been a difficult truth to swallow, so—like always—Shinji ran from that responsibility.

As a young man, that running gradually led to spending less time at school and more time with seedier crowds… which, in turn, eventually led him to the yakuza, to Shirato, and to her brother—who might never learn about Ken; he wouldn’t know how to tell that story.

At any rate, Shinjiro had been enjoying his time with Mikio, and didn’t feel like they were moving particularly quickly. But he couldn’t help being conscious of the fact that he wasn’t sure he could give what one is _typically_ expected to give—at some point—in a close romantic relationship. The kissing had felt unusual, but not unpleasant, but going farther than that…

God, if he could only stop being such a coward about it. It didn’t even feel particularly wrong inside—in his core, he could feel that attraction to Mikio. But… what was it? Frightening? Embarrassing, maybe? For all his rough exterior, did Shinjiro _care_ what people might think of him? Was it just too hard for him to reconcile that sort of tough guy image with his attraction to a man?

Probably not. It was easy enough to imagine romance, to some extent. If he could just learn to laugh about it and treat it with the levity it deserved, then he was certain he could hack it. He just wasn’t sure that he had it in him to assume the role of a confident lover, even if it was simple enough to picture. Spending time together was easy. What was _difficult_ was the physical aspect—the closeness and the intimacy. Did he want that? Sure. But it seemed like a very real possibility that he would be unable to manage it. After all, Shinjiro had never done that sort of thing with a man.

Of course, he'd never gotten the chance to do it with a woman, either.

Yeah… the bulk of his hesitation probably had very little to do with Mikio’s sex, he realized. Shinjiro pictured himself as someone without shame—as someone who, in his own cynical way, was liberated and carefree—but it just wasn’t true. The last time anyone else had seen his body… well, that probably would have been one of his parents, since he hadn’t often availed himself of public baths. And until he’d kissed Mikio, the closest physical contact he’d ever had with anyone was when he used an electrified fist to ruin someone’s weekend.

Indeed, if they were talking capacity for shamelessness, any typical yakuza grunt could take Shinjiro and… well… put him to shame. Hundreds of hours spent watching the crowds in purgatory allowed him to say that with confidence.

Another little snag was that, although Mikio had faults of his own, Shinjiro knew that wasn’t the kind of person he deserved. Armed with an abrasive personality, a dangerous and legally dubious job, and a passion for almost nothing, Shinji doubted he would make a satisfying partner for anyone, let alone a bright young engineer who was going to change the world with his cyberized hero, which in turn would no doubt do a load of good for stock shares at the Kirijo Group—the same company, mind you, that had created what was (to all appearances) a sentient robot. _Those_ were the kind of people Mikio worked for. The kind of people he worked _with_.

It may not have been a competition, but there was simply no way that Shinjiro could measure up; people like Mikio didn’t date people like Shinji. Not for long, anyway.

Mikio’s path was upward.Shinjiro’s path was downward. Those paths might have intersected for the moment, but Shinjiro couldn’t see any permanence there. Not fair to Mikio, maybe. Not fair to _him_ , either. But that’s what his bones told him.

Bones. That was what it came down to. Shinji could _feel_ that he didn’t have long to live. He wasn’t in any hurry to die, but every factor he could think of—everything in his gut—led him to believe that he wasn’t long for this world. Not _incredibly_ long, at least: he could imagine another ten or fifteen years, but it was just a matter of time before he faced a challenge at the “office” that he would be unable to overcome. Or maybe an angry young guy he had bounced out of Purgatory would come back and stick a knife in his back one day.

But it’s not like Mikio would believe him; he’d already protested the disparity between them and been dismissed. Not that Mikio could be blamed—it’s not as though Shinji could see the future, whatever it was he felt. He could appreciate that he was dating the kind of guy who approached things a bit more scientifically.

Which just led Shinji back to wondering how he apparently measured up to be “good enough” in Mikio’s evaluation of him, but he tried to shake the thought from his head, in no mood for going around in circles today.

He let out a deep sigh, realizing he was in sore need of some air; as fond as he was of moping around his apartment, he might be better served finding someplace else to entertain himself. After gathering his jacket and his keys, he left his abode behind and started toward the nearest station. If nothing else, there would probably be a distraction or two on the way. Perhaps he’d witness a hero foil a villain or two, if he was lucky.

A hero, huh…?

Well, daylight crime wasn’t common enough in his neighborhood that he could expect to see any action. It did remind him, though: he was thinking about Ken earlier, but he knew someone else who was going to UA, didn’t he?

Arisato-san. Minako. _There_ was another weird meeting. If he hadn’t made such a fool out of himself and gotten caught staring at her, there would be even less on his mind. Until she had brought up Fuuka and Minato, he’d never really thought too much about his high school days—but that was neither here nor there. He had gone to school so rarely that he had made it pretty difficult for any of them to have formed any strong friendships.

Their relationship had mostly been one of coincidence—wherever Shinji would kill his time and ignore studies, they would somehow show up nearby. If he was in that alley behind the flower shop, they would somehow appear at its storefront just as he was leaving. Or he’d greet the two when he found them shopping, since ignoring them would have been more awkward than the brief small-talk which ensued. If he happened to go to school, Minato would always ask his Aragaki-senpai what the occasion was.

Even for Shinjiro, the loss of Wild Card came as sobering news. Heroes might have a dangerous occupation, but it wasn’t every day that you heard of one _losing_. They were heroes for a reason, after all, each of them strong, reliable protectors that the average criminal could never keep up with. What’s more, Wild Card had been a bit of a big deal: he had been in plenty of scrapes and his Quirk was weird enough that a criminal was unlikely to ever figure him out and put him down. Yet, somehow…

Shinjiro didn’t go to the funeral. He’d never even sent flowers or anything to Yamagishi. He regretted that, now—a little bit. She would probably recognize his name, so that excuse—that she might not realize who it was—wouldn’t work. But time passed and he… simply never did anything. The person that he had grown to be was nothing that Fuuka needed to start associating with; she also had an infant at the time, who likely wouldn’t benefit from sharing air with a man like Shinji. It was best for all of them if he stayed out of it, he’d decided.

More excuses, he knew. Shinjiro had been pretty bad senpai, and that hadn’t changed over the years. He sighed as he carded into the station.

Minako had suggested meeting Fuuka again. While resistant to the idea at the time, he had to admit now that a part of him _did_ want to see her, even though his same excuses likely still applied. She wouldn’t get any happiness from seeing him—at least, not enough to justify him going there just to satisfy his curiosity.

He tried to shove his kouhai out of mind, wheeling his attention back to Minako as he stepped onto one of the trains. The batting cages where he’d met her were only a station or two away, so… if he went there, maybe he’d get to see her again. What was it about this mystery of hers? Why did she—apparently—remind everyone of Wild Card? Hearing that he hadn’t been the first one to compare the two made him feel stupid, especially because he couldn’t exactly explain the feeling—that subtle thing, whatever it was, that made her seem so similar.

Was it something about her face? Her nose or… her ears? It couldn’t be the headphones, could it? Most kids these days went for the earphones, but her equipment was a little more robust than that… while also not quite bring your traditional set of headphones. So Minako and Minato had similar names and similar taste in audio gear, but she couldn’t be the only kid running around with a set of those. While the similarity in their names was alarming, Shinji hadn’t even known that when they first met, so… it had to be something else.

Maybe her parents just forgot to mention that Minato was her uncle, or something. It was a little weird for them not to be related by blood _somehow_. Or at the end of the day, maybe she was just… cute. Perhaps Shinjiro just couldn’t take his eyes off of her—at the unique sight of a high school girl, alone, batting her stress away.

That didn’t give him license to bother her, of course, but that’s what happened. She didn’t seem happy to have been compared to a dead hero… again.

As he stepped off the train, he could feel his hopes getting suspiciously high. He knew there was virtually no chance that Minako would be at the cages, but a piece of him murmured that it was _possible_ , she _might_ be. And even if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt to borrow a bat for a little while, so he had nothing to lose. Although, if he were honest, it would be _better_ if she wasn’t there. Shinjiro hadn’t solved her little mystery and wasn’t in any position to offer helpful advice, considering where his own life had ended up.

He took in the familiar neighborhood as he stepped off the train. It still amazed him to think that just a few streets away, there were teeming pits of criminal activity flourishing just beneath the noses of the citizenry, just out of sight of the hero and the policeman. It wasn’t a community he belonged in, but it was where he’d ended up. He counted himself lucky to have found a position with relatively benign duties, since he wasn’t sure he’d have the patience for typical yakuza legwork. He had no desire to separate innocent people from their money—particularly not for the nebulous idea of “protection” from a clan which might not even be threatening the innocents in question.

Instead, he worked for someone _else_ who did all that—although Shinji tried not to think too much about it. Letting idiots squander their money on gambling and women was a little different from extorting honest businesses.

And–-fortunately—incidents like Akiyama-san’s didn’t exactly happen very often; you didn’t often see Shirato trying to con helpless losers into the coliseum. Perhaps she knew her audience a little too well. Watching someone frail get themselves unfairly brutalized might be satisfying once in a while, but people weren’t gambling on fights with certain victories in mind. They wanted to see sweaty muscles rubbing up against each other, feel the excitement of a tense match with an outcome no one could guess—something that anyone could appreciate.

All while Yukiko collected some none-so-modest service fees from the proceedings.

Considering the way he lost to Mikio all the time, there couldn’t have been a very exciting betting landscape there. Not much profit to be made watching a bodyguard get bullied, most likely. It surprised him that Shirato had never put a stop to them. Did she… _enjoy_ letting her bodyguard look weak? Maybe Shinjiro wasn’t there to protect her from anyone, really; maybe he was _just_ there to keep her brother from causing trouble. Unlikely as it was, the thought itched at his brain uncomfortably. Was there something else to it?

Maybe. For all he knew, Yukiko had some sort of unstoppable quirk and Shinji was just guarding her for show. It sounded like something she would do.

Shinjiro looked up when he arrived at the cages, prepared to spend the cut he had earned from Yukiko’s crowd of gambling addicts. It disturbed him how much more comforting it was to think of work than of Mikio, Minako, or the others. Maybe he was a brainless bundle of muscle, after all.

After renting a bat, he went to see which of the cages were occupied, annoyed with himself for being unable to quell the glimmer of hope he felt fluttering between his chest and belly.

That hope deflated quickly, though, once he had seen what was available. He hadn’t noticed until now that he had stepped into that strange sort of midday twilight that only appeared in the midst of a weekday, in those hours where schools had let out but the salary-men were still toiling away. Kids would either be at club or on their way home, while everyone who wasn’t stuck at work would be busy making dinner preparations, since it was just a little bit too late in the afternoon to try grabbing lunch anywhere.

As such, Shinji was met with a row of empty cages… save one, which—by the mass of carefully groomed blonde hair—Shinji could tell certainly did _not_ have Minako in it.

Wait. Blonde? He normally would have given it no time, but considering who had just been on his mind…

On closer inspection, he felt his stomach turn at the coincidence. If he hadn’t already come here so purposefully, he might have just returned his bat and left, but this seemed like one of those rare instances where even a disillusioned skeptic like Shinji might wonder if there was some mysterious serendipity in the way the universe worked. He would never admit it again in the future, but if people _did_ move according to the whims of fate, then maybe this would be a good exhibit for making that sort of case.

No use thinking too hard about it, either way.

That hair, the UA uniform, the blue shine of the eyes, the way the skin of her face gave way to a sort of unreasonably tight white turtleneck; she had even set aside her shoes, apparently favoring the stability of her… _hooves_.

Shinjiro had ostensibly gone unnoticed so far, so he took one of the cages adjacent to her. It might not be Minako, but perhaps this would go the same way: if Aigis eventually noticed him leering at her, that would probably turn into a conversation of _some_ kind. Although… he probably looked enough like a criminal that she might know better not to engage—considering she was _built_ to fight crime. And if she did presume that he was up to no good, it’s not like she would be mistaken.

He decided to let his presence soak in a bit, starting up the pitching machine and taking position to hit a few balls, which gave him plenty of time to observe a few of Aigis’s swings. From what he saw, Shinjiro guessed that this was probably her first or second time holding a bat. While the pitching machine couldn’t get any strikes on her—she managed to make contact with the ball every time—the ball often seemed to go in whatever trajectory it pleased, which rarely got her anywhere near to the point targets.

After Shinjiro had gotten a few hits of his own—one of which counted as a home run—she started to take a bit more interest in her batting “partner”, and he noticed her giving him the occasional glance in between pitches. Even for a robot, it probably seemed odd: Shinjiro had every batting cage to choose from, but he happened to pick the one directly next to hers. No matter how you looked at it, that wasn’t something that happened by accident.

On further observation, though, he noticed something else: her stance loosened up a bit, with her legs standing wide and the motion of her arms looking much more pronounced as she swung. This didn’t do her much good when it came to striking the actual ball, but Shinjiro could identify this for what it was…

“If you’re trying to copy me, it probably won’t work,” Shinji advised, before he could stop himself. “Rather than widening your stance, you should think more about anchoring it—lowering the center of gravity and all that. And keep your arms in close and the bat behind you, or else you won’t have enough time to get a solid hit on the ball.”

He paused, wondering how ridiculous this unwarranted advice must sound to her. The mechanics involved in hitting a baseball were probably completely different for a robot. Shinji tried not to let himself feel embarrassed as she turned to look at him directly, staring for a moment as she gave herself some time to process the words. Something at the bottom of his spine told him he should apologize for interrupting—but he refused to give in, instead looking her in the eye to see how she would respond.

Eventually, she only looked back at the bat in her hands and took her position over the batter’s box with her bat held ready, pulling it back as he had recommended and subtly sinking a little closer to the ground—a stance that looked rather unnatural and difficult in a creature without proper feet. Maybe he was wasting both their time, trying to advise a robot.

When the next ball came shooting out, Aigis—predictably—made contact with it, only this time the ball went whistling up toward the opposite corner of the cage, only narrowly missing the target.

She turned to him with a smile. “Thank you!”

Taken aback by her effusive gratitude—and by how similar this whole situation felt to his introduction to Minako—Shinjiro tried to stammer out a reply. “I mean, you did it yourself on your first try; I don’t deserve any thanks for that.”

In a very real way, this was what Shinji had been waiting for; Aigis was talking to him. But… what did he want to discuss, exactly?

Unfortunately, the robot beat him to it. “I appreciate your assistance, in any case. Next time I will be sure to hit the target.” Then she paused, putting the tip of her bat to the ground as she looked him over through the cage. “Did you choose the cage next to mine because you recognized me?”

Still trying to gather himself, Shinjiro spoke before his brain was ready for it. “Sort of. Saw you on television a while back. You’ve got… interesting feet,” he said weakly and without honesty, feeling like a complete moron.

“Thank you. I received them as a gift,” she said, staring at him with a very serious look in her eyes. “For my birthday.”

He returned her stare. Was that… a joke?

“Er, yeah, I’m sure you did.” He cleared his throat and shook his head, deciding he was acting ridiculous. “My name’s Shinjiro Aragaki. It’s good to meet you, Aigis-san—although I gotta say, I was kind of surprised to see you here.”

He could see Aigis’s eyes light up with recognition at the name. “Were you perhaps looking for Minako-san, Aragaki-san?”

Shinjirorealized he probably shouldn’t be surprised. “She told you about me, huh? Yeah, this is where I met her; I figured I’d see if she was around, since she happened to be on my mind. Imagine my surprise when I find her girlfriend here, instead.” A bad feeling lit up in his gut as those words came out of his mouth, so he quickly added: “If that’s still what you are to her, I mean.”

She smiled again, giving him a firm nod. “Yes, Minako-san and I are still together. I am afraid she will not be here today, as she has business with one of our other classmates. I will be sure to tell her that you came looking for her, however,” she offered brightly.

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured, although he was secretly rather pleased. He gestured lazily at their surroundings. “Do you come here often with Arisato-san?”

She shook her head, surprising him with the fluidity of her movement. It actually wasn’t too hard to see how someone might ‘date’ her. “As a matter of fact, I do not typically join her here,” she admitted,looking back to the pitching machine, which waited patiently to dispense the rest of its payload. “But since she has mentioned it several times, I thought I would give it a try!”

“Not bad, for your first day,” he replied, again feeling an eerie sense of déjà vu that carried the same flavor as the evening he met Minako. “Not that I’m any expert on batting,” Shinjiro added. He realized, as he watched her through the chain fence that separated their cages, that he was going to be quickly running out of topics for small talk. He could also tell that—despite her pleasant manner—she also wasn’t exactly going to be to carry this conversation with observations on baseball and weather. It felt shallow to focus on it, but it was too hard to ignore the fact that only one topic—one person—was united in having their interest.

After a bit of a pause—apparently also content to leave behind any baseball chatter—Aigis looked up at him with a gentle look on her face. “Minako-san told me that you approached her because you recognized her.”

Shinjiro nodded, setting his bat aside. “Well, it’s not like I’d seen her before; something just seemed weird about her. She made it sound like I have that in common with a few others.”

To his surprise, Aigis looked just a little sad—and maybe a little disapproving at his reference toward Minako as ‘weird’. “It’s true. I experienced the same thing when we met, and Fuuka-san has made similar comments.” She held her bat close, gripping it as though she were getting ready to hit something again. “I believe that the subject bothers her, so I would appreciate it if you refrained from mentioning it to her in the future.”

“Yeah… she pretty much told me that already,” he said, perplexed that _she_ was telling _him_ this, although it made sense that Minako had already brought it up. “For better or worse, she’s not Wild Card. Can’t blame her for feeling like she’s some kind of replacement, as though you— _we_ —would all trade her for Minato if given the chance.”

She said nothing for a moment, apparently considering those words whilst gazing down at the bat in her hands. Although he was certain she had no muscles to speak of, he could swear that her body had tensed up, as if she was preparing to strike, or to flee. He knew what she was thinking, though: even if Aigis had learned of Minako’s insecurities, perhaps they had never been laid before her so plainly and harshly. Most of the people who had met Minako… they probably liked her. The same could be said for Wild Card. Even if the two of them couldn’t really be compared otherwise, this was probably the question on Minako’s mind: _Would they rather have Wild Card than me_?

Which meant that the people who saw the Wild Card in her—the ones who, for some strange reason, couldn’t help but find her _familiar—_ had to ask themselves the corresponding question: Would I rather have Wild Card than _her_? It wasn’t a fair question, but it would also be easy to dodge. Shinji would be unsurprised if a robot like Aigis might just say there was no point in considering the question, since trading Minako for Minato wasn’t possible. But even if that was true, the idea behind such a question still mattered; anyone who dodged it could reliably be labeled as dishonest.

And if she wasn’t dishonest, maybe Aigis _would_ make that trade. In a way, he wouldn’t be able to blame either Aigis or Fuuka for wanting Wild Card back. What widow wouldn’t want to return to the arms of their husband? What sidekick wouldn’t want their mentor back?

“I hope very much that Minako-san does not feel that way. There is nothing that I would trade her for,” she said eventually, her voice quiet and tinged, somehow, with both confidence and fear. “I…” she hesitated, apparently uncertain how to express this next part. “The strength of my feelings for Minako-san cannot be traded.”

Her answer, although mournful in resonance, relaxed Shinji. “It couldn’t hurt to tell her that.” If it weren’t for the fence between them, he might have put a comforting hand on her shoulder; from what he was seeing now, he was sure she would understand that gesture.

“In any case,” he continued, “we can admit the coincidences are a little weird. Maybe she’s got another quirk; one of these days, someone will get that vibe from her, but they’ll be thinking of someone completely different. Someone else who’s passed on, maybe.” He stopped, a little embarrassed at this speculation. “All I’m saying is there’s probably an explanation. None of us have to feel guilty—including Minako-san.”

Aigis nodded, and her sad face gradually grew a smile. “I will tell her you said that, Aragaki-san.”

“Sure. And you probably don’t need to hear me say this, but Minako-san seems like a nice girl—plus, she’s my kouhai’s daughter—so… take care of her, alright?”

“Roger that!” she promised, smiling brightly as she jauntily saluted him with one hand. “I owe her my best, so Minako-san can always count on me; meeting her has been… a real home run!”

He valiantly suppressed a painful cringe, wondering where she got her sense of humor from. Not Fuuka, right? “Yeah, good. Do your best, and all that.”

“You, too, Aragaki-san. Feel free to count on me, if you think I can help. After all, you are a friend to my parents, in addition to Minako-san.”

He scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed to have someone so much younger asking him to count on her—not to mention a little curious at hearing Fuuka and Minato referred to as the robot’s parents. “You shouldn’t waste any time worrying about me, Aigis-san. Guy like me doesn’t deserve it.”

Aigis gave him a puzzled look at that, but was apparently able to appreciate the finality in his voice. “Very well, Aragaki-san; my offer remains, if you ever change your mind.” When something on the floor started buzzing, she surprised him again by pulling a cell phone out of her bag and quickly checking it. “I apologize, but it appears that my time here is up.”

“I’ll be staying a while,” he answered, as Aigis started to gather up her things.

After she had packed up and prepared to go, Shinjiro met her at the door to his cage. After a few seconds of hesitation, Shinjiro extended his hand, which Aigis accepted with no reservations.

“I am glad we met, Aragaki-san. If you do not mind, we could share our—”

“You can get my number from Minako-san,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “If she still has it. Anyway… it was good to meet you, too. Careful on your way home.”

With a cheerful (and knowing?) smile, Aigis gave him a shallow bow before she went on her way. It may not have been the girl he was looking for, but he couldn’t say he was dissatisfied with their meeting. As far as he could figure, it really only increased the chances that he would see Minako again. And after that… maybe even Fuuka—not that she’d want to see him, in all likelihood.

Shinji lifted his bat back up as he took his position in the cage, knowing he had plenty of time and pitches left. He’d probably spoken too much, but—whether he had been of any help or not—he sensed in Aigis the confidence to move forward. With any luck, maybe he would be able to do the same. He thought of Mikio again as the next ball shot toward him, slamming it effortlessly into the target.


End file.
